#aib fanfic

Freedom’s Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose:  All Of The Times Aguni Stayed (And The One Time He Left)

Pairing:  Aguni/Takeru (Hatter)

Rating: PG-13 (likely to change as the story progresses)

Warnings:  mentions of violence, mentions of blood/injury, alcoholism, underage drinking

Notes:  This will be a multi-chapter fic exploring the relationship between Takeru and Aguni as they try to navigate their lives, from the fistfights of childhood to the uncertainty of adulthood, all the way to the Borderlands.  I have taken many liberties to create what I feel is an appropriate backstory for these two, but it most likely deviates from canon, so keep that in mind.  Each chapter will be named after a different song that I feel suits their relationship, so feel free to give it a listen as you read for a more in-depth experience.    

Chapter One: “Born To Run” by Bruce Springsteen

It’s the edge of February. Half-frost chill blows through the Tokyo twilight, sweeping through labyrinthine alleyways and tunneling between skyscrapers.

The cut on Aguni’s cheek burns.

“Your mom’s gonna kill you,” he says, watching Takeru fish his keys from his pocket with blood-knuckle fingers.

“She’snot,” Takeru insists, brushing Aguni’s worries off with a breezy tone. Even with a black eye and a split lip, he’s still as jovial as ever—like they had just gone for a relaxing walk by the river instead of getting caught up in a turf-war-turned-knife-fight. “I bet she’s not even home yet.”

“But your dad—”

“Oh, please! It’s nine o'clock on a Tuesday,” Takeru jams his key into the lock, “He’s gonna be half asleep in front of the TV. Probably won’t even hear us come in.”

“He noticed last time,” Aguni reminds him, “He grounded you for a week.”

The lock clicks and Takeru twists the doorknob with a sharp jerk of his wrist. The old metal door opens with a groaning creak, yellow-tinged light leaking out and drenching the wild-haired young man in a sunshine glow.

“Mori,” Takeru says, and it’s in the gaze of his laughing eyes that Aguni can’t help but feel something warm bubble up in his chest, “it’s all gonna be fine. Trust me.”

And Aguni does trust him. Not because he’s a particularly trustworthy guy, but because Takeru has always managed to slip away from any kind of conflict with minimal damage. Charming teachers into giving him passing grades, flirting with girls to get cigarettes and kisses on the school roof—hell, the only reason Aguni was allowed to join the gang is because Takeru had worked his magic on one of the higher-ups.

So Aguni follows him inside. Nearly trips over him as they squish into the tiny genkan, a collection of shoes smushed haphazardly along the far right wall.  He tips left, elbow thunking into the wall below a collection of family pictures in mismatched frames—Mr. and Mrs. Danma at their wedding, Takeru’s older sister holding a baby Takeru on her lap, the whole family posing outside of the shop downstairs with toothy smiles and a different hat atop each raven-haired head.      

“I’m home,” Takeru calls out, although he doesn’t seem to expect any kind of response, “Mori’s here too. He’s staying the night.”

Aguni lets the door fall closed behind him and takes a deep breath.  The Danma residence—a strange little place, with almost as much character as the family who inhabits its gaudy papered walls and scuffed wooden floors—is the closest thing he has to a home these days.  The cramped little room he rents with what pitiful paycheck he receives from his part-time job may be where he sleeps, but it’s here where he lets himself rest.  

He toes off his shoes by stepping on each heel, and leaves them in line next to a pair of low pink heels.  Takeru sits on the floor, tugging at frayed laces to slip his feet from the canvas hug of his red hi-top sneakers.      

“Ah.  Mister Morizono,” a familiarly slurred voice says, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Mr. Danma—Takeru’s father, the hat maker, the baseball-watcher, the functional alcoholic—sits in the center of a sagging floral couch with the TV remote in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other.  He brings the cigarette and takes a slow drag, unimpressed gaze tossed first to his son and then to Aguni as he blows the smoke from his nose with a low hum.    

“Dad, it was so cool,” Takeru excitedly explains, shoving his shoes against the wall, “Mori and I got into this fight—”

“Obviously,” the elder Danma scoffs, cracking open a fresh beer.  His fourth of the night, if the cans left crunched and empty on the low coffee table are anything to go by.  He looks at his son with a disappointed expression, but Aguni can see a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Looks like you lost, too.”

Takeru rolls his eyes, shrugging off his dirt-smudged jacket with a breathy huff.

“We didn’t lose,” his son insists, letting the limp thing sag on a hook by the door, “we just…decided to leave before things got out of hand.  You’re always telling me how I need to be responsible, so, uh, you’re welcome.”

Mr. Danma laughs.

“Right.  Getting into fights after school is very mature,” he says. He motions towards the kitchen behind him with a flop of his hand, “There’s leftover curry on the stove, if you want it. You mother told me to make sure you got a good dinner.”

“She working late again?”

“Yeah. New show starts next week, so it’s crunch time for the costuming department,” Mr. Danma takes a gulp of beer and sighs, “If you’re gonna go out and get your ass kicked, make sure you don’t rip your clothes. The last thing she needs is to mend her idiot son’s school jacket for the five-hundredth time.”

“Dad!  I already told you,” Takeru shouts, “I was the one doing the ass-kicking! Tell him, Mori—he’ll listen to you.”

“It wasn’t your best fight,” Aguni answers truthfully, much to his friend’s dismay, “but you held your own, I guess.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Takeru snaps, swatting at Aguni’s shoulder angrily, “I was the best fighter out there!  My right hook is the stuff of legends.  I broke, like, three noses today!”

“And you’ll break your mother’s heart if she sees you looking like that,” the elder Danma says, swigging from the can with an audible gulp, “Go get cleaned up in case she comes back early.  I’ll make sure our friend Mister Morizono doesn’t burn your dinner while you’re gone.”

It’s as if Takeru suddenly remembers himself, bruised and bloody and dirt-smeared, because his shoulders drop a few centimeters.  He side-eyes the pot on the stove, no doubt hungry after such an exciting scuffle. Of course, Takeru is usually hungry—and pencil-thin, despite the way he can snack his way through an entire bag of potato chips in one sitting.  

“I’ll handle it,” Aguni says, nodding towards the kitchen, “You look terrible.  Worse than normal, even.”

“Hey!” Takeru snips, but his voice is drowned out by Mr. Danma’s raucous laughter.  With pursed lips and a pouty flip of his mussed-up hair, Takeru turns on his heel and makes a grand show of stomping off to the bathroom.    

“Still better looking than you,” he calls out over his shoulder, mirth in his voice squashing any bite the insult may have had.  The door to the bathroom slaps shut with a level of panache that only Takeru could muster, and Aguni smiles smally to himself.  

And he’s not much of a cook, but Aguni at least knows to turn the stove to a low heat and let the curry heat up slowly to a bubbling simmer.  He takes the lid off of the pot and admires the rich color of the sauce, how richly deep and velvety it looks, with potatoes and bits of chicken and onion and orange carrots cut into star shapes floating in the delectable thickness.  

Mrs. Danma always cut the carrots into stars.  A little touch of whimsy, even in the smallest and most inconspicuous of places—perhaps it’s because of her that her son is so vibrant and playful.  She’s certainly why he knows how to get the blood out of their school shirts, scrubbing at stains with an old toothbrush and daubs of hydrogen peroxide from a brown plastic bottle.  

Does she truly not know what Takeru is getting up to when he’s not at home?  Doubtful.  For all her laughter and sunshine, she’s a clever and calculating woman—as quick with her wit as she is with her sewing machine, the tip-tapping of the old thing the thrumming heartbeat of her family’s charming little home.  Maybe that’s why she doesn’t comment on the empty beer cans in the recycling or the tears in her son’s uniform, knowing the seams of her beautiful and troubled family might begin to fray if she didn’t keep the machine going…      

A whistle catches Aguni’s attention.  Musical, like a birdsong, but inside the house.  He places the lid on the pot and turns his attention away from the stove.

“Come on, kid.”

Mr. Danma’s attention hasn’t left the game, but he holds a beer up in Aguni’s direction—an invitation, the young man realizes, for something more than just a drink.

“Thanks,” Aguni says, taking the lukewarm drink from the man’s hand and holds it in his aching fingers.  Before the older man can suggest it, he sits down on the sofa, the squeaking creak of the springs a testament to both its age and years of use.  

There’s a moment where neither of them speaks, the tinny sound of a television crowd filling the sound space between them.  The Carp are down.  They’re Mr. Danma’s favorite team, even though he’s a lifelong Tokyo dweller. Aguni wonders if he’s ever been to Hiroshima—maybe he just likes the team colors?  Aguni tends to root for the Hanshin Tigers because of their cool logo.

The pitcher throws a fastball.  The batter misses.  

“I’m a lot of things, Mister Morizono, but a fool isn’t one of them,” Mr. Danma drones.  He flicks the tab on his can of beer dispassionately. “You two aren’t just fighting schoolyard bullies.  It’s bigger than that.”

“I, uh—”

“No need to deny it,” he continues, shifting into a deeper slouch, “I know my son. And I know you, too.”

Aguni doesn’t respond. The batter swings and misses—strike two, and Mr. Danma spits a curse as the crowd boos.  

“You’re a good kid,” Mr. Danma continues, “A little stupid, maybe, but you’re—what?  Seventeen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Even worse.  Being a dumbass is a requirement at that age.  My boy’s more than adequate in that department.  Sure, he’s smart enough, but…”

He takes another drink.  Aguni copies the movement, even though he doesn’t really want to.  He had planned on taking the beer with him to share with Takeru, as they always did when they were luckily enough to get ahold of one.  

“I don’t need to tell you that, though. If anyone knows him, it’s you.  Might as well be a brother to him,” He smirks to himself.  “Had one of my regulars come in the other day asking why I don’t make my other son stock shelves, too.  Said I didn’t know what he was talking about—turns out, he meant you.”

That makes Aguni frown.  Perhaps he was a nuisance, always hanging around Takeru and his family.  In truth, besides school and work, he didn’t have elsewhere to go—not enough money and not enough patience for arcades and cafes and wherever else people his age frequented in the evenings.  

The television crowd cheers—finally, a hit. The Carp player breezes through first base and heads to second, landing on the plate with a showy little hop.        

“So, I told him,” Mr. Danma says pointedly, “that my other son had a part-time job at a landscaping company, and that I don’t want him getting dirt all over my inventory.”

Aguni freezes.  Hell, he would’ve dropped his drink entirely if hadn’t been gripping it so tightly just a moment before.  

“I,” he starts, but his voice dies in his throat.

Another hit for the Carp.  The man on second slides into third just before he can be tagged out.

“Let’s not ruin this with words, son. The point is,” He says, pausing to take another gulp of beer, “You’re family, whether you like it or not.  Now I know you don’t have the best history with that sort of thing, but we Danma’s take it very seriously.  It’s more than just having dinner together and fighting over the remote.”

For the first time since they started speaking, Mr. Danma looks away from the television and stares at Aguni directly. Aguni meets his gaze, albeit cautiously.

“Family looks after family.  Blood or not, you’re one of us now.  And because you’re one of us, you gotta make me a promise.”

Mr. Danma has tired eyes.  Watery eyes.  But not hazy eyes—the drink hasn’t dulled the sharpness in his pupils just yet, and he stares at Aguni with every ounce of seriousness a worn-out hatmaker can muster.

“Okay,” Aguni says.  

“You have to promise me you’re not gonna leave him.  Not out there.  Not ever. I don’t care if the cops come, I don’t care if one of you gets hurt—you stay together.”

Mr. Danma breathes in heavily.  Gulps against his own throat.  

“I can’t protect him forever—I know that, but I,” He pauses, voice rough as gravel, “A man’s gotta fight his own battles, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta fight alone.  If he’s got you in his corner, I think he’ll be alright.  So don’t you dare leave him, Aguni Morizono.  Not for a second.”

The crack of a baseball hitting a steel bat. The crowd cheers again.  The curry on the stove has begun to simmer, the lid of the pot rumbling in time with the bubbling of the liquid below.

None of it matters.    

“I won’t,” Aguni says.  How silly he must look, with his eyes hard-set and his jaw squared—still just a child, barely old enough to know what it is to promise someone something, but promising all the same.  “I won’t leave him.  Not ever.”

The elder Danma stares.  Directly into his pupils, looking for the dance of doubt or perhaps a flicker of wavering intent—but Aguni doesn’t have anything of the sort.  

Not when it comes to Takeru.  

Mr. Danma nods.

“Go check on dinner,” he says, turning his attention back to the game.  The Carp are still losing, but not as badly as before.  “He’s already gonna be pissed about the beer, but burnt curry’ll send him right over the edge.  You know how he gets.”

Aguni doesn’t argue.  He picks himself up off the sofa and scuffles off to the kitchen.  The curry had begun to stick a little to the bottom of the pan, but it’s nothing a few scrapes of the ladle can’t fix.  

The game is still on, and Mr. Danma has gone back to watching as the grainy ghosts play a game already lost.  Just like he always does, and just like he’ll continue to do until either the booze runs out or he does, slumping onto his side and snoring along with TV static into the wee hours of the night.  It makes him wonder what he’ll be like in the future—will he have a family of his own?  Will he have a wife who cuts carrots into stars and a son with bloody fists?

He sips on the rest of his beer.  Finishes it, before he can stop himself.  The alcohol content is low, but he still feels a loose buzz.  Like he could fall asleep and have empty dreams.  Maybe that’s why people do it.  Maybe that’s why Mr. Danma does it.  Maybe that’s why his father…no.  No, no, he’s not thinking about him.  Not now, not ever again.

“Hey,” a snippy voice snaps. Aguni looks up to see a wet-haired Takeru standing in the hall, skinny arms crossed over his too-big, too-old Queen sweatshirt.  “Why does he get a beer?”

“Because he doesn’t lose fights,” Mr. Danma says.  He turns to look at his son and smirks. “I’ll tell you what, son.  You can open up the freezer and choose any bag of frozen vegetables you want as an ice pack.”

“Aw,Dad!”

“I know, I know—I’m the most generous father to ever live, and you’re so lucky to have me,” He laughs, “Now, go on. Get something on that eye before the bruise sets in.  The ladies like a man who’s rough around the edges, not all the way through.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me what women want.  I’m basically an expert…”

Aguni starts dishing up their meal as father and son talk.  Two bowls, filled with rice, then curry ladled on top of that.  The little cut-carrot stars, the noise of the two Danma men in yet another ridiculous exchange—it’s happiness.  Happiness in a way he didn’t think he’d ever feel.    

He has a family.  He has Takeru.  

And he’ll do whatever it takes to protect that.

Thank you so much for giving this a read! In chapter two, we’ll be exploring Takeru’s early days as a host–and, yes, Aguni does play into that somehow. I think we deserve a little humor before everything gets angsty, don’t you?

If you ever have any comments or questions regarding this fic—or any of my others, which can be found on my tumblr tagged as #writingsandsuch—please feel free to drop a message in my inbox!

Thank you again, and I look forward to seeing where chapter two takes our favorite boys…

irregular-idol-imagines:

- Part 9 -

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Scenario: Alice in Borderland universe… mainly interactions at the “Beach” between the reader, Chishiya, Kuina, Niragi

Pairing: Chishiya x female reader; (Niragi x female reader)

Requested:no

Genre: angsty? humorous fluff? big freaking comedy?

Rating:16+?

Warnings:none for once, I think???

Word Count: 2000+

A/N:I have absolutely no clue. However, there will be at least one more part, maybe two.

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Kuina returned safely to the Beach and the night passed quietly and with no unexpected occurrences.

Yet you had trouble finding sleep.

The day came and you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of what might happen in the evening.

You needed to participate in a game.

Keep reading

irregular-idol-imagines:

- Part 6 -

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Scenario: Alice in Borderland universe… mainly interactions at the “Beach” between the reader, Chishiya, Kuina, Niragi

Pairing: Chishiya x female reader; Niragi x female reader

Requested:no

Genre: relatively angsty

Rating:16+?

Warnings:swearing, violence?

Word Count:2100+

A/N:I’m still working on a plot tbh, enjoy the insignificant chaos.

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You didn’t know what you had expected but the situation escalated quickly and you felt truly helpless this time, being the one who’s life was on the line.

Ironic, since all the games threatened your existence just the same.

This way, somehow, would be a worse way to go, though.

How could you have fought with Niragi so easily being able to press the button?

And furthermore, your hands were tied behind your back. Whether that was enough to actually make it impossible for you to escape on your own or not, you didn’t want to find out.

Keep reading

irregular-idol-imagines:

- Part 5 -

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Scenario: Alice in Borderland universe… mainly interactions at the “Beach” between the reader, Chishiya, Kuina, Niragi

Pairing: Chishiya x female reader; Niragi x female reader

Requested:no

Genre:sort of angsty

Rating:16+?

Warnings:swearing, violence?

Word Count: 2400+

A/N:I just wanna say, I’m here waving my sympathy for Niragi flag tbh

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The rest of the night went by without any further incidents and neither of you talked about whatever was going on with either of you.

In the end, the three of you weren’t friends, merely allies in strange and desperate times.

You were made to join a game that next day but it was an easy one, a four of clubs, and nearly everyone survived.

That wasn’t a big challenge and therefore rather meaningless. However, it did add some more days to your visa, leaving you with a safe stay for another week at least.

Keep reading

irregular-idol-imagines:

- Part 2 -

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Scenario: Alice in Borderland universe… mainly interactions at the “Beach” between the reader, Chishiya, Kuina, Niragi

Pairing: Chishiya x female reader; Niragi x female reader

Requested:no

Genre: angsty? slightly smutty at the end?

Rating:16+?

Warnings: swearing, violence

Word Count: 2300+

A/N:Explicit stuff makes me uncomfortable so I want to punch myself in the face but it’s okay… 

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Maybe Niragi was smarter and more sensible than it had occurred to you before.

Or well, he could be when he felt like it. Because mostly, he wanted the world to suffer and to turn everything pitch black.

You weren’t saying that it made him more likeable but having gotten a closer look at him, you had a better understanding of his character now.

“Don’t mistake me for being weak.” You replayed Niragi’s words in your head and subconsciously your hand wandered to your lips, feeling the bruised spot where his beloved sniper rifle had hit your face.

It wouldn’t have been him if he hadn’t used violence. But it could have been a lot worse, you knew that. This he had probably done simply for the effect.

Keep reading

irregular-idol-imagines:

- Part 1-

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Scenario: Alice in Borderland universe… I don’t know tbh, takes place at the Beach, mainly interactions between the reader, Chishiya, Kuina, Niragi

Pairing: Chishiya x female reader; Niragi x female reader

Requested:no

Genre: a little angsty? a little humorous (eventual fluffy/ smutty parts)

Rating: 16+?

Warnings: swearing, violence (…anything else?)

Word Count:2200+

A/N: Idk what I’m doing or if this is any good but they had me in my feelings and there are a lot more parts to come since I don’t want the posts to be that long. The characters are, hopefully, like in the Netflix series (did not read the manga) and I’m sorry, I refer to Chishiya a lot as the blonde one. The start’s a little rough Idk, enjoy? xD

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You saw Chishiya and Kuina talking not far from you and you would have bet your life that the blonde one was plotting something.

Except for the first encounters you have had with each of them, you never met them not by each others’ sides. Both were usually calm and seemed to put themselves only in fully calculated and the absolutely necessary danger, in games as well as outside of them.

Watching these two from the distance, you had noticed they would be quite useful to have as allies if you wanted to get out alive, despite three probably being an odd number.

Keep reading